


Of Feathers and Clovers

by deanicanfixthat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, College Student Castiel, College Student Dean, Destiel One Shot, Engineer Dean, Engineer!Dean, Human Castiel, Kinda, M/M, Medic Castiel, One Shot, POV Castiel, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, all-nighter fic, medic!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanicanfixthat/pseuds/deanicanfixthat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Cas had completely procrastinated over every ounce of his paper on takotsubo cardiomyopathy—choosing to play card games and watch re-runs of '80s cop shows with his equally procrastinatory suitemates instead of researching for, planning, and then just writing his stupid paper. What no one had bothered to inform him, however, was that alongside their seemingly procrastinatory way of life, people actually did the work they were supposed to do. During the times that Cas hadn't been with them, all of his suitemates—Joshua, Balthazar, even Gabriel—all of them had studied for their final exams and written their final papers. And that was why, at now 1:21AM, Cas was holed-up in the basement study room of his dorm attempting yet utterly failing to complete the last paper in the final class of his freshman year."</i>
</p><p>It seems like it's going to be a pretty horrendous night, until Cas stumbles upon another suffering student. And y'know what?<br/><i>"Maybe the all-nighter wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At least there was something of interest."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Feathers and Clovers

It would never end, Cas was sure of it. The monotonous clicking, the echoing room, the deep sighs. Everything, drilling into his brain and ruining whatever concentration he had left—which was in itself the very dregs that lined the bottom of his mind.

He stops typing and glances at the wide, old-fashioned watch that decorates his left wrist.

1:19AM.

773 words down.

1227 to go.

Cas mutters a few profanities under his breath before folding his arms in front of his laptop and collapsing into them. Deep, _deep_ regret rises within him from not having been vaguely organised—or at least just conscious off the continuous passage of time—and written his final paper last week, or even over the weekend.

But alas, the best laid plans of mice and men.

Well, that and the fact that Cas had completely procrastinated over every ounce of his paper on takotsubo cardiomyopathy—choosing to play card games and watch re-runs of '80s cop shows with his equally procrastinatory suitemates instead of researching for, planning, and then just _writing_ his stupid paper. What no one had bothered to inform him, however, was that alongside their seemingly procrastinatory way of life, people actually did the work they were supposed to do. During the times that Cas hadn't been with them, all of his suitemates—Joshua, Balthazar, even _Gabriel_ —all of them had studied for their final exams and written their final papers. And that was why, at now 1:21AM, Cas was holed-up in the basement study room of his dorm attempting yet utterly failing to complete the last paper in the final class of his freshman year.

Cas stifles a groan of anguish in the crook of his elbow and huffs a sigh as he lifts his head and, with dampened determination, turns back to his laptop—where bubbles glide merrily across it in an attempt to maintain power. Cas dances the pad of his right-hand's middle finger softly across the touchpad and his work flashes back up at him, brighter than ever, with the numbers 773 glaring at him. Rubbing his hands tiredly across his face, he turns back to his books.

As his eyes glide over information and charts mapping out the internal organs of a human body, a harrowing moan rises from the furthest depths of the room. Cas' hands instantly freeze over a diagram of the heart and with wide-eyes he slowly—ever-so slowly—raises his head to peer over his cubicle.

The room is seemingly empty. No one is walking through it and there doesn't seem to be any backpacks resting up against the other cubicle blocks, indicating other students. Indeed, Cas had assumed he was alone.

Cas settles back down in his seat and pauses for a moment before leaning to the right and eyeing the room from around his cubicle once more. Empty.

Centring himself again, he looks down with glazed-over eyes and thinks. And then, " _Fuck_."

The complaint arises from the far right corner, by the block that sits next to the B section door. With a frown decorating his forehead, Cas places his open palms on the desk and then shifts his weight onto them, pushing back to stand up. Sure enough there's a tuft of soft light-brown hair poking up over the top of a cubicle. Cas smirks at the other student—completely empathising with their anguish and entirely unorganised personality. Then the hair disappears, swiftly followed with a thump, and another groan.

Cas' mouth tightens in concern and his frown deepens as the room becomes achingly quiet, no more noise arising from the other student. Eventually, with worry beginning to peak its head in his mind, Cas steps to the side and exits his cubicle, swiftly walking across the room towards the silenced individual.

The grey carpet is surprisingly hard beneath his feet but, regardless of the cheap flooring, the walk across the room feels good. His legs stretch and his wound muscles loosen after having been curled up beneath him for hours. Cramps release and the soft touch of pins and needles slowly claws its way up his legs in welcomed pleasure—the sensation edging feeling back into him. And, as he walks, he stretches his arms too, the tension dissolving like sugar on the tongue.

When he approaches the other occupied cubicle Cas slows, not wanting to frighten the person within it. He walks quietly to where the tuft of hair had been and, sure enough, when he peers over the plywood dividers of the cubicle a guy is sat with his back arched over and his head tucked into his arms, just as Cas had been before. He catches himself smiling gently.

The guy settles and then lifts his head ever-so slightly to gaze, forlorn, at the blank plywood in front of him in search of answers that would never come. As he rests his chin on his still-crossed arms, the guy puffs a defeated sigh through his nose.

Cas’ smile widens in understanding. Leaning forward a little, he clears his throat and then says, “Hell—”

The guy jumps back in alarm with his head swivelling to find Cas’, but he shifts too far and begins to fall off his uncomfortable and straight-backed wooden chair. Fear flashes in his eyes as the situation registers in his mind, before his limbs flail and attack the desk, trying to gain purchase but to no avail. Quick as anything, Cas lunges forward and shoots his arms out, grabbing a plywood divider and the guy’s shoulder in either hand and then working with him to pull both of themselves back upright. As the guy straightens himself, Cas loosens his grip and then drops his hands by his side. He watches the guy stare at the desk with glazed-over eyes for a couple of seconds, before he then huffs out a laugh and runs his hands through his short hair as humour lines his face.

Cas steps backwards slightly to his original place and waits quietly for a moment or so before, “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

The boy glances up with eyes as green as clover and a crease in the corner of them from sweet understanding. Hundreds of little freckles grace his face like miniature paint specks as his skin folds back into lines and a small smile appears, and then disappears. The eyes turn questioning and then soft. The lips part as if to let words fall like good men, but no voice hums through them yet. Instead the pupils contract and dilate, undulating like waves, as the gaze runs along foreign skin and nervous breath.

Micro-expressions, micro-emotions. Flickering like candlelight at an illuminated carnival but potent like stars in a desert.

The stranger shakes his head in response to Cas’ comment as he raises his eyes to match the other boy’s. The pleasant smile returns. “No worries. My bad, really. I was probably disrupting you with all my groaning.” His smile turns apologetic. “Thought I was alone. Don’t blame you for wanting to shut me up.”

Cas laughs gently and smirks. “Actually, I came over to see if you were alright. The complaining I can put up with, but I don’t really want anyone passing out whilst I’m trying to write my paper. It’s far too disruptive.”

The guy replies with a hearty laugh that warms Cas’ chest. Maybe the all-nighter wasn’t such a bad idea after all. At least there was something of interest.

Then, a sour, sharp tug at his heart.

 _Watch yourself_.

Glancing at his own laptop and scattered books, the oblivious guy sighs half in anguish and half in left-over humour and then looks back up at Cas with a roll of his eyes and a defeated shake of the head.

“What about someone dying from failure at life?” he asks with a half-smile. “Would that be any better? Because with how this paper is going, I’m pretty sure the end is nigh for me.”

Cas stuffs his fists into his trouser pockets, reservedly. But then the guy’s green eyes turn questioning, humoured, and pitiful, and so Cas forgets himself and looks up at the ceiling, over exaggerating his pondering. “Hmm,” he groans in thought, the rumble coming from deep within his throat. He drops his eyes back down to the awaiting guy without shifting his head. “I don’t think that would work either, because then I’d have a dead body to deal with.”

The guy’s smile turns into a grin. “You seem smart, I’m sure you could figure something out.”

With his mind on fire and his chest hollow, Cas levels his head again and shrugs in blasé and humoured refusal. “No. You’d just be a hassle.”

The guy throws his head back and laughs out loud—the brilliant sound of it echoing around the empty study lounge and vibrating through Cas’ bones. Straightening up, the guy glances up at Cas with a wondering look in his eye and a smile ghosting his lips. He extends a hand.

“Dean. Winchester.”

Cas takes his hand and shakes it firmly.

“Castiel Novak.”

Letting go, Cas tucks his hand back into his pocket. “So,” he begins as he glances around the room, oh-so nonchalant, as the consciousness of his eager attitude becomes ever-more apparent and bubbles to the front of his mind. “Do you live here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” He fixes his gaze back on Dean just in time to see him shrug.

“Yeah. I do. Over in B section. You live in A, right?”

Confusion lines Cas’ forehead for a second before he nods slowly and tilts his head to the side with eyes squinting and his lips falling open in question. He studies Dean. “How did you…?”

“Oh, I’ve seen you come and go.” He shrugs again. “I think we’ve walked past each other a couple of times. Maybe seen you at one of the RA’s events. Y’know, stuff like that.”

Cas nods again, gently, as he thinks. Dean smirks, almost embarrassed, but the expression swiftly disappears and he stretches back into his chair, more relaxed.

“So, uh, you said you were writing a paper too? What on?” He pauses and then decides to reiterate what he meant more clearly, “I mean like, what’s your major? And minor, y’know, if you have one…” His words trail off. The expression of embarrassment may have disappeared, but it definitely caught in Dean’s throat on the way out.

Cas smiles at him and replies with, “Pre-med. And the paper is on takotsubo cardiomyopathy.” He smirks. “That’s death by broken heart for laymen.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Oh, look at Mister High-and-Mighty over here. Thinks he’s everything because he knows a little Latin.”

“It’s not Latin.”

“Might as well be.”

They grin at one another. But then Cas’ reserve kicks in. _Chill_ , he warns himself.

“So what about you?” Cas continues with the pleasantries, crossing his arms to seem disinterested even though the keen edge to his voice gives him away. “What’s your major?”

Dean’s eyes flick down to his textbooks. “Nothing as impressive as a med student,” he says dismissively and then shrugs with one shoulder. “I’m doing Engineering. Not like space rockets or robots or anything awesome like that. Just cars and trucks and stuff.” He shrugs again and grabs his pen to fiddle with. He watches it deftly twirl around his fingers for a few moments until his raises his gaze again with a half-smile.

Cas earnestly holds Dean’s eyes with his own as he softly speaks in the quiet room. “Sounds kinda awesome to me.”

Dean’s eyes flicker for a second as shyness disperses through his skin and within just another moment a defence begins to rise up in his gaze, rigid and shining like Spartan warriors. And Cas is entirely sure that he’s pushed it too far—just a little too common, too friendly. Milliseconds tick by like hours as Cas internally curses himself. Distance, reserve, and ever strong self-denial are the way forward. That’d been drilled into him for all his years and yeah, sure, he slipped up from time to time, but strong taciturnity was his centre, his backbone. To let it fall is to let himself become vague and undefinable like the water’s edge.

And because of all those previous slip ups, through instances of his own weakness, Cas knows exactly what will happen in the next few clicks of the second hand. One. Dean will frown in discomfort. Two. An awkward but swift goodbye. Three. Cas is forever branded the stranger who overstepped the boundaries, who got a little too close when they’d only just met.

And four? Four is silence.

It’s understandable. Human notions, nature by birth, just clicking into place as well-worn cogs of a machine. Understandable. These things happen. People weren’t like him. He was different, he was wrong.

Funnily enough, none of that happens. Instead, Dean glances down but then back up, and then a soft, gentle laugh escapes from his throat as he rubs the back of his neck with one of his hands.

“Thanks.” He nods. “Yeah…Thanks, man.”

Cas lets out a breath in relief and pulls his arms in closer to his chest. The tension is thick in the air like winter fog and Cas is so acutely aware that they can both feel it on their skin as goosebumps.

“It’s alright.” He hesitates and then swallows, smiles, and says, “It’s impressive. I could never do that.”

“Well, I could never cure a broken heart, so we’re even.”

Cas laughs lightly. “I can’t cure them. I just look at the aftermath.”

Dean looks up towards the ceiling, comically over-thinking just as Cas had. A sweet smile tugs at his mouth as he eyes Cas from the side. “I dunno. I think you will. One day.”

Cas’ hollow chest turns into an open cage with a young, wild, wise bird inside. The skin around his eyes prickles, but he just heaves an unnoticeable breath and grins, all toothy and gummy like he hates but can never control. “Yeah.” His voice is soft as feathers, just as Dean’s eyes are. “Maybe one day.”

A good few seconds of pleasant silence hums between them. But, eventually all good things must come to an end, and neither can allow themselves to get lost for too long, and so Dean looks down at the books lying open in front of him and Cas gets the hint.

“Well,” he begins, shifting on his feet as if to make like he’s leaving. “I’d better be getting back then. I’ve still got a lot of work to do.” His heart tears a little bit but he stays silent.

Dean nods, once again in defeat. “Yeah, ditto.” He pauses, a thought arising in his mind, and then quickly glances up at Cas. “Unless—and I mean if you don’t want to that’s totally cool—but, unless you wanted to move to one of the bigger tables? Like, y’know, one of the ones for group study? We could both spread our books out and, y’know, spur each other on or something.” Dean shrugs, trying to make it out like he thinks it’s a dumb plan and he’s expecting Cas to say no.

And so when Cas agrees, Dean’s eyebrows rise and he doesn’t smile for a split second. But then, when he does, it consumes his entire face and Cas feels like a rain cloud broken by the sun.

It only takes a matter of moments. Dean begins to gather his things and Cas quickly walks back to his own cubicle and picks up his laptop and books. With everything stacked in his arms, he staggers across the room towards the large, group-work tables where Dean is already setting up.

“This cool?” he asks, looking up hesitantly. “I just threw my stuff down on one of them, but—”

“It’s perfect,” Cas interjects, feeling his gaze soften. He walks the final few steps and places his laptop and books directly opposite where Dean has placed his.

Dean nods a couple of times—catching and then avoiding Cas’ eyes as he does so—and then looks down at the table and nods again. “Yeah, good. Good.” He pauses and then pulls out a chair and sits in it, his legs bowing as his sinks down. He rolls his tongue over his lips and looks over the books in front of him, not taking any of them in. He raises his line of sight to an ocean’s depth. “Well then,” he says.

Cas mirrors Dean’s actions and sits down. Once settled, he places his arms on the table and cautiously looks to the side before slowly lifting his gaze to the eyes that stare right back at him—green like the bottles of rich, deep wine and clear like lightning. He swallows as the air changes. “Well then,” he whispers.

 

* * *

 

It would never end, Cas was sure of it. In the cool basement room, his face was heated. His nervous system had stirred and awakened, ringing alarm bells that’d scored the length of his limbs and burned him as his capillaries had stretched and flushed. His bone china skin had prickled as his chest had ached, making his breathing low and rapid, mirroring the beat of his worn heart.

Somehow, even with his vision blurring at the edges, his hands shaking with each second, and his mind wandering to far places, he had managed to tackle more of his paper and had beaten three hundred words. He still had nine hours to claim that last thousand. Perfectly achievable—if only his face wasn’t so hot and his heart wasn’t breaking his ribs from the inside out, like a magnet being drawn to another.

He sighs, hearing his broken air as it surges from his lungs.

“I can’t seem to concentrate,” he admits softly.

Peering over the top of his screen, he sees green looking back at him already. The gaze is strong for a few seconds—glancing away only once, twice—before finally resting on Cas' eyes.

“Same,” Dean replies, and his eyes warm slightly. It’s not overtly noticeable but those small burst of human marvel have already scored their way onto Cas’ heart and so, when they blend as easily as a heartbeat into the literal personification of a summer haze, Cas notices. He notices the way they turn stronger, yet simultaneously softer, and the pupils dilate with awe. Cas notices how the skin around the eyes grow taunt like, out of Cas’ view, behind the screen of the laptop, Dean has unconsciously given in and graced the world with a small smile of beautiful puzzlement. Cas notices each movement at atom level and part of him wants to scream and roar of all the caution he should be taking because of that fact entirely. But, Cas feels it the moment he refuses that to fester. He feels the walls crumble and crash in his being. He feels each brick crack and, though they hoard in the pit of his stomach once they’ve fallen and are still, Cas feels lighter. The wall is still there, of course. It would take more than a cautious smile to make the tower tumble. But there are gaps now, and from them sunlight glares so bright it should hurt, but it doesn’t. It’s warming and light and it makes Cas wonder.

The next few hours pass much the same. The room is filled with only the sound of paper softly turning and nervous breaths releasing. Neither speak again, but nothing much could be said.

Sometime around six Cas' count clicks over to 2000 and, by six thirty, his conclusion is finished and his paper edited and complete. The relief is tangible as it crashes through his system, and the grin is uncontrollable.

"You done?"

Cas looks up to see Dean smiling back, his laptop having been pushed at an angle to allow easier access to his books.

"Yeah. Finally," Cas says, nodding and looking back down at his work with a smile. It wasn't the best thing he'd ever written—it wasn't his Mona Lisa or Sistine Chapel—but, if he dared admit it to himself, he was actual kinda proud of it. It was good.

"Same." Cas raises his gaze again, slightly confused, and watches Dean fiddle around on his laptop for a few seconds before closing it and continuing: "I'm finished."

Dean nods once and smiles at Cas, then slides his laptop off the desk and begins to put it away.

Cas isn’t sure if, by some sheer coincidence, they’ve finished their papers at the same time, or if Dean has just been waiting for him. He never saw Dean’s number count so he doesn’t have any clue, but his heart is drawn to the latter idea. Not purely because that’s what Cas would want more—of course he would, there is no point doubting it now—but the actions of Dean hint at the fact that it might be the more viable conclusion.

In the final hour, Dean’s typing had slowed and, every time Cas had flicked his eyes up, hoping to catch the smallest, unnoticeable glance, Dean was already looking his way. Dean didn’t turn the pages of his books so often and, when he did, it was either entirely nonchalant or rushed, like he’d forgotten his charade. And then, just now, Dean’s reaction was quick—too quick to have finished off his own work in that time.

Cas doesn’t bring this up though. He just watches as Dean packs away his things; starting off hurriedly, then slowing down to an almost antagonising stalled pace. He shuts each book with tenderness and wraps his laptop cable up gently. Cas is quicker, but not by much. Because he seems to feel it, Dean’s reasoning, and feeds off it. Each wrap of the cable around the elbow is deliberate and Cas can almost hear the thought process of Dean’s mind—the exact same one that is thriving in his own.

_What now?_

Too soon, they’ve both packed up and so just sit there—floating in a limbo of everything. They avoid each other’s eyes for a while, just skimming their gazes along chairs and tables and floors and walls. But after a few minutes Cas is drawn and can help it no longer, so he looks up at Dean—his eyes falling upon a pronounced and angular profile.

Dean’s gaze instantly flicks to Cas, obviously having felt the pressure of Cas’ stare. And that’s exactly what they do for a few moments—just stare. Because it’s there, between them, low in the air: a tension that hums around them and leaves them questioning **_what now?_** Neither of them know what to do, how could they? This is different. This isn’t the ordinary butterflies and stomach knots. This is the crashing of waves and the blustering of hurricanes. It’s the cracking of worlds and supernovas. And it’s utterly terrifying.

But, strangely, Dean smirks. Cas frowns, confused that he’s reading it all wrong and that he’s broken the tower too early, for the wrong reason, the wrong person.

But Dean’s smirk turns into a smile and he bites his lip before saying, “Well then.”

Cas grins, and the tension lifts. It doesn’t disappear but it turns into a winter mist, rather than the storm clouds it had been. “Well then,” he responds.

They both reach for their bags at the same time, equally unsure of what to do. Dean stands first and Cas is quick to follow, before waiting for a second as Dean makes his way around the table to stand next to him. He hadn't really noticed before but Dean is tall—at least an inch or two taller than Cas. Of course, he'd registered his vague height as Dean had walked across the room earlier, but up close was something different because everything just seemed that much more personal. Cas could see the kind of worn fabric of Dean's shirt, and he could see the light, almost invisible, stubble that was beginning to poke its way through Dean's skin into a rough but welcoming shadow. He could see the flecks of gold in his irises and the millions of freckles that mapped out his skin. He could smell an almost mountain-like scent bleeding from his pores and, best of all, he could feel the mellow heat radiating off him.

Dean stalls for a second, equally taking the opportunity to eye the other man up close, before he looks around the room. The door to A section is at one end of the room and the door to B section the other. Cas eyes them, deflated.

But, after only a second of hesitation, Dean starts walking off to the right—to the closest door, yeah, but also to the door to A section. Cas follows, puzzled, and then stops when Dean does, directly in front of the closed door to Cas' section.

Dean smiles fully and rubs a hand over his neck, holding Cas' gaze. “It’s been fun...Cas.”

He speaks Castiel's name hesitantly but both of them physically relax once it's said because it falls from his lips, nickname and all, and just works.

“Yeah, Dean. It has,” Cas responds, lightly nodding and returning the smile.

Dean's eye line shifts left and it lands on the door. He nods his head towards it.

"Good night, I guess." He chuckles softly and rolls his eyes, landing them again on Cas. "Well, I suppose good _morning_."

Cas sighs a laugh. "Yeah, that might be more appropriate." He looks down, thinking over all the hours he'd just spent writing his paper, and his laugh opens up and he rubs his eyes. "What did I get myself into?" He pauses and then corrects himself. "What did _we_ get ourselves into?"

Dean responds with an acknowledging and humorous groan and joins in the laughter. "Tell me about it."

Cas looks back up and, when they're eyes connect, Dean shrugs with a _what-are-you-gonna-do?_ look plastered on his face, and Cas chuckles again in recognition.

After a few moments, they calm and so Dean reaches up and pats Cas' shoulder.

"Alright, well, see you around, Cas."

His hand lingers slightly before he gives Cas' shoulder a small squeeze and drops his arm. With a jig of his own shoulder to settle his bag, Dean turns around and heads towards his section's door.

Cas watches for a few seconds, taking in Dean's back and the movement of his body as he walks—his mind less in the gutter and more in excessive awe. But, as Dean reaches the door to his own section, Cas turns away and opens his door, stepping over its range.

He hovers in the corridor for a few seconds, his mind going wild and trying to process whatever has just happened inside the study room, but nothing is working. Every last piece of the story is still floating up in the high heavens and refuses to be reined down and processed. But it doesn't really matter to Cas right now. Because, even if he can't understand it all, his thoughts and memories are still there—the gazes branded in his mind. He smiles softly.

Then, something else arises in his mind. Something's missing. He thinks for a second and then it dawns on him. The door. He never heard it shut.

The smile slowly melts from Cas' face as, millimetre by millimetre, he turns to look back over his shoulder with a look of caution and hope.

Dean stands in the doorway. It's a narrow frame and so he practically fills it. And, though the light is shining from behind Dean as the corridor isn't yet lit, Cas reads the fully-blossomed, awe-filled questioning that has moulded Dean's face.

His eyes flitter to the left and search the wall for a moment as his jaw locks and his eye movements become more jagged and rapid. When he looks back at Cas, everything has fallen away. The smirks, the humour, the shyness. Because Dean is standing like an open book of questions and he wants Cas to answer them all.

Dean steps forward slowly and the door slams shut loudly, the sound of it echoing down the dark corridor.

Cas' own last words ring clear in his mind and Dean gently walks closer, the only light coming through in a haze from the murky glass window on the study room's door. The silence is aching and Cas swears he can hear his own heartbeat, shuddering through his bones and melding with Dean’s.

Dean stops directly in front of Cas, when only a few inches separate them. In the shadows, Dean's eyes glow as they mark their way along Cas' features. Temples, cheekbones, jaw, neck. His gaze halts on Cas' mouth, before flicking back up to his eyes.

"Well..." Dean whispers, overwhelmed and not finishing the sentence. He swallows.

Cas watches Dean's mouth as he says it and then waits a few seconds before lifting his blue to the green. The shadows curl around them as Dean looks simultaneously lost and found.

Cas opens his mouth slightly, hesitates, then draws in a sharp breath in anticipation. Dean eyes have turned hooded in the tension and Cas glances between them and his lips one final, fleeting time.

Then he whispers, "What now?"

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally up!  
> Dear lord, I have been working on this fic since April. At first, it was just a suggestion posted to me on my tumblr and it was just going to be around 1k-1.5k, but it ran away with me and this happened...so you get nearly 5k instead. Whoops...my bad!  
> It took so darned long to write because it jUST WOULDN'T WORK. But it's finally finished and I could not be happier ^^  
> and I'm actually kinda proud with how it turned out, tbh :)
> 
> If you liked it, don't forget to send me some kudos-love and comments! I love hearing feedback from y'all :3  
> And if there was anything you didn't like or would prefer differently, let me know that too! I'm always up for some constructive criticism.
> 
> If you would like to be a superfan and reblog this on tumblr (because you're amazing), the post is here... http://deanicanfixthat.tumblr.com/post/132786937400/of-feathers-and-clovers
> 
> And, finally, come be my friend on tumblr and chat to me at deanicanfixthat.tumblr.com (I was under a different username but, like with this ao3 account, I had to change it so if you were following me before, make sure to switch over)


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